


all roads they lead me here

by alexandrahadley



Category: Criminal Minds, Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexandrahadley/pseuds/alexandrahadley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes it's easier to leave than stay, and sometimes, it's actually the right thing to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all roads they lead me here

It’s a thing they do.

She stands outside her door, waiting, breathing, worrying.  She has no right to be out here, to seek her, to think about her and gasp a little bit inside.

 _It’s not a right, it’s locus standi_ , she would have been corrected, a little airy laugh breaking out and filling the space they shared.  She remembers the first time she was reminded of those legal terms, like there could be five million differences between them, but with two Latin words, they could share something beautiful.

When she finally knocks, she waits long enough to think (maybe, hope) that there is no one at home.  But the door opens and there’s a soft gentle “Myka” that reminds her of all the great that they share.

“I-“ she stutters and immediately drops her gaze to the floor, like that will help her find the words, or prepare her in a fashion that she should have been prepared before.  It doesn’t.

Instead, it’s again Helena who finds courage, those slender fingers reaching forward and raising Myka’s face so that their eyes meet.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Helena answers, but pulls her in anyway.

* * *

_They’re sitting at the benches outside the ward where they had just interviewed the accused.  It’s eight, and the work day should be long over, but they both have their laptops out on their laps, and they are typing, typing, typing away.  Once in a while, Myka reaches over to take a sip from the bitter coffee neither of them wanted, but both of them needed, and this goes on for far longer than it should._

_It’s past office hours, but there really isn’t such a thing for either of them._

_Helena’s the one who makes them stop.  She laughs at the official email just sent by Myka, each sentence formally worded and properly structured, with the healthy spatter of “for your concurrence please” and other pleasantries neither of them would ever use in real life._

_It’s ridiculous, sometimes.  But most times it’s just adorable._

_Her hand crosses over and those fingers caress the back of her hand, carefully and yet, at the same time, carelessly. Myka stops typing for a second, when she looks over and asks, “what’s wrong?”_

_But Helena just grins, and closes Myka’s laptop shut, and carefully pushes it away from them.  Then she shuffles in closer, and without a word, laces their fingers together.  When Myka finally realises what has just happened, she falls silent, breaking eye contact, but not pulling her hand away.  It takes her a good two seconds before she breathes again, and when she does, she stumbles around for an excuse._

_Eventually, Helena’s the one who lets go, and stands up to throw away her- no,_ their _, coffee cup, her laugh mockingly sweet (if there is even such a thing)._

_Myka doesn’t tell her how beautiful she looks in the night light.  She doesn’t tell her how much she wants to kiss her either._

_How is it that Helena makes her want to break all the rules?_

_Instead, she says, “there was this case I handled four years ago.”_

_That was Sam’s last case._  

* * *

She’s thinking, and trying desperately not to think, at the same time.  _Things should be simpler_ , she thinks, and not for the first time.

Warm arms wrap around her waist and she turns around to a head of black hair, and warm kisses to her collarbone.  Myka leans back, and between the beautiful view and Helena’s embrace, she knows exactly why she never seems capable of letting go.

Between all the things they share, and all the things they don’t, they’ve been through this over and over.  Perhaps they shouldn’t be doing this, or at least perhaps _she_ shouldn’t be examining everything they say, and everything they do, with the benefit of hindsight.  Perhaps it is wrong for her to be here, and perhaps it is wrong for her to expect more.  Perhaps one of them should settle, and perhaps that person should be her.

When Myka turns, she presses a gentle kiss on Helena’s lips, and smiles.

There are so many things on her mind, so many things she wants to ask. 

But eventually, Myka asks, “when are you leaving?”

She doesn’t say _don’t go_ , and she wonders if Helena understands anyway.

The answer comes in an uncomfortable mumble, and she feels Helena pull her closer, as if she’s not saying what she should be as well.

“The flight is booked for Tuesday.  I’m due for a final debrief by the District Attorney.”

“Of all cases, that’s the one that gets to be our last case together.”

“I know,” Helena says, but she doesn’t struggle, when Myka pulls out of the embrace. 

She looks at Helena, and she can’t tell if she’s supposed to be angry, or if she’s better off apologising.  Things were never that clear-cut between them both, but there and then, she just can’t help but wonder if there are always multiple versions of themselves at play, and the night before she was lucky they matched, and this morning, she was unlucky they might not.

Helena says “I can’t be late, I have to leave,” and it sounds far sadder than it should.  If there’s an opportunity for her to say something, this may be it; Myka can’t stand here and pretend that it’s okay for them to just dance around each other again.

“Don’t.”  She mumbles, and then she says it again, this time firmer, “ _don’t go_.”

“I can’t stay,” is all she hears from Helena, who doesn’t even turn around to face Myka again.  And under her breath, Myka repeats the words, her voice fragile, “I can’t stay”.

_I can’t stay either._

It’s bitter and awful when she says those words, and even Myka isn’t sure whether she’s talking about how irresistible they are whenever they are together, or how the first thing she noticed on Helena’s calendar this morning was the bright red circle on today’s date.

Myka’s no fool – she knows who Helena has to send off today. 

And it reminds her that, perhaps, of all things, she shouldn’t settle.

* * *

_“Lunch?” Helena’s head pops into Myka’s office, and Myka looks up from her papers, surprised at the sudden visit._

_“Who cleared you in anyway!?” She asks, trying to fix her unruly hair without making it too obvious that she’s doing just that.  “Seriously, if this was an audit, my guys would fail every security test in the book.”_

_Myka gets out of her seat and moves closer to Helena, closing the door behind her.  There’s a soft thud, and then she lowers her voice, “fancy that, a prosecutor waltzing into a police station anytime she likes.  You probably don’t even have the necessary security clearance.”_

_Helena chuckles, and surprises even Myka when she kisses her, there and then.  When their lips finally part, Myka’s hands are still on Helena’s hips and there’s a small smile on her lips when Helena replies, “evidently I have enough security clearance for you.”_

_She blushes and looks away, dragging Helena towards the door._

_(She’s never quite been able to think straight when she’s around Helena.)_

_As they leave, Myka speaks loudly.  “So, what’s the official stance on this?  Has there been sufficient breach of the duty of care, or are they going to fight on the point of causation?  Surely counsel remembers_ ne bis in idem _?”_

_Once they’re in the safety of Myka’s car, Helena bursts out laughing._

_“What were you doing there?”_

_Myka looks over and grins.  “My guys turn off once they hear latin.  Sometimes I throw it at them just so they’d think I’m saying something terribly intelligent.”  Then she leans over and kisses Helena again._

_There’s a softness between them that Myka can’t, and won’t, replicate with anyone else._

* * *

Myka’s armed the next time they meet.  She is flanked by two other officers, and they’re storming out of the station when she sees Helena at the corner of her eye.  Sighing, she turns away, and heads straight for the car, trying to look anything but unsettled.

But then Helena calls out her name, and Myka’s feet instinctively stop.

“I’m busy,” she starts.

“Only five minutes.”

Myka doesn’t move, but the other officers do, until Myka’s alone and Helena can inch closer, her steps betraying an unusual lack of confidence.  When she finally gets close enough, Helena grabs at Myka’s hands, but she jerks away, and Helena is visibly disappointed.

(It seems that there’s plenty of disappointment to go around.)

“Don’t do this,” Helena pleads.  Myka struggles, not wanting to look up, because looking up means she’ll meet Helena’s gaze, and she knows that when Helena’s voice cracks like that, all she’ll want to do is envelop her in the warmest hug possible, and tell her that everything is okay.  She’ll say that even if nothing is.

And really, nothing about this is okay.

Myka turns her head away, and then she says, “I’ll call”, before walking away.

She doesn’t.

* * *

_“You know,” Myka starts, her voice small in the darkness, “when I first saw you, I didn’t actually want to get to know you.  I thought you were such a huge pain in the ass.”_

_Helena laughs, like she expected it all along, but Myka sits up straight, and there’s a seriousness about her.  She may be covered in little more than sheets, but her gaze is determined, and her hands, warm and cold at the same time.  Helena bites her bottom lip and nods, waiting for Myka to continue._

_“Pete liked you first.  I sat there and thought, how great could this individual be?  Could I not do what she did? When he went on about your smile, about the way your English accent tickled every word, about the way your brain pulled together the most unaffiliated thoughts and composed from them a beautiful symphony, I scoffed.” Myka paused and looked straight at Helena, smiling sadly._

_“He was the one who made me go for that dinner, you know that?  You two would be great friends, he insisted.  And now,” she swallows, “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”_

_When Helena sits up to kiss Myka, gentle like a feather tickling the surface of water, Myka doesn’t think about how much she has just admitted to Helena.  Instead, she thinks about how there’s so much more she should have said, but couldn’t bring herself to._

_That night, Myka leaves her bed before the break of dawn.  When Helena asks, she tells her that there was a case, and she was sorry she had to leave._

_Helena doesn’t mention that Pete had asked her that morning how their night went._  

* * *

There’s a new restaurant across the road from the station, and it’s rumoured to be terribly good despite its reasonable price and lack of restrictions on attire.  Pete’s actually there, with his ex-wife no less, in a crumpled suit he only put on because she showed up in her uniform.

Myka’s alone, in their office, because she knows that neither going home nor joining them at the restaurant were viable options.  She’s here, with little more than her tea, and a surprisingly comforting stack of investigation papers that tell her that she’s actually needed.  Time passes when she’s not thinking, well, not _thinking about her_ , and when she’s spending time with people who treat her more like an agent and less like an actual human.  Here, they don’t actually expect anything substantive from her, they don’t expect Myka to say things that she would otherwise only tell Pete, and that is only after a fair amount of pressing.

They just need her to do her job, and _that_ , she can definitely do.

By the time she clears enough work for her body to force her to take a break, it’s already two in the morning, and Myka lets out a small sigh of relief.  There’s a quiet in the office that is usually disrupted by the cheeriness of Pete and it permeates to the streets below, to the closed restaurants, to the way each footstep seems manifestly louder.

When she finally leaves, Myka takes curious pride in the fact that she gets to be the one to turn off the last light in the office.

That’s her life, now.  It’s all about work, work, and more work.  As she drives home, she thinks about the last case she did.  As she walks up the stairs, she thinks about the inmate she has to interview tomorrow.  As she opens the door, she thinks about how best to occupy herself with extra operations and more cases.

It works, most of the time.  It distracts her from what, well _who_ , she’s truly missing.  Well, at least most of the time.

And then, sometimes it doesn’t.

It’s on those days that Myka actually gets some sleep, with an empty glass in her hand and too much gin in her body.

* * *

_“Why do you call him ‘the boy’?” Helena asks, playfully nudging her shoulder, but Myka doesn’t respond in kind.  She looks up, between mouthfuls of ramen and answers, with all seriousness._

_“Because there’s no need for me to know his name.”_

_They don’t really ever talk about him, but sometimes it’s impossible to avoid the topic.  Myka gets irrationally angry at the thought of Helena doing overtime alone, skipping dinner altogether, when_ he’s _supposed to be the one making sure she eats, making sure she’s safe, making sure she’s feeling okay._

_Instead, it’s Myka who whips up excuses to visit the DA’s office and bring her food, it’s Myka who makes her text once she’s safe at home, it’s Myka who detects the little changes in her voice that could mean anything from a simple flu to a case she just lost._

_Helena lets Myka do all that, but when Helena tries to do the same, Myka resists._

_In fact, when Helena calls to check that Myka is home, Myka deliberately lets the phone ring longer than it should.  She lets it ring as long as she can bear, all the while wondering if Helena checks on him too._

_She never asks._

* * *

Her phone rings, and she sits up straight, her body responding immediately.  It’s not morning yet, she knows, from the way her curtains dim a grey-blue, rather than a bright yellow, but she knows better than to question calls on her official phone.

But when she hears the voice on the other line, she immediately regrets her earlier decision.

“Myka,” it’s a whimper – soft, regretful, and maybe even _weak_.

She rubs her eyes, and looks at the clock.  It’s four-thirty, and Myka immediately starts putting on her clothes.

“Where are you, Helena?”

For good measure, she even brings her gun along, checking it twice.

“I’ll be there.”

It takes her twelve minutes and a speed she’s not proud of to reach the club, and Helena’s sitting outside, two men beside her.  It’s painfully obvious that she’s not feeling well, her usually luscious hair messy, her posture indicating she might throw up anytime.  Frankly, it’s a little disconcerting.  But Myka’s immediate focus is not on that, but on the two men gently rubbing her back, easing her, and the way they touch her, the concern, the closeness, the-

Myka stops herself.

She steps out of the car, draws her gun, and immediately commands, “NYPD!  Step back from her.”  It takes them by alarm, but drunk people generally do not respond well to commands, so Myka repeats it again, louder, moving closer towards Helena.  When eventually they back away, Myka keeps her gun drawn, for a full five more seconds, before she puts it back in its holster, and uses all her energy to carry Helena in her arms, back to her car.

She drives them down the highway just enough to make sure that no one is near, before stopping the car again.  Myka turns on a dim light, to the whimpering complains of Helena, and gently, runs her fingers across her face, checking for a fever, for signs of roofies, for anything that would compel her to send Helena to a hospital.  But what she finds instead, is Helena looking back at her, her gaze tired, but still lucid.  And when Helena’s hand reaches for hers, Myka doesn’t let go.

Instead, she cups Helena’s face, and presses their foreheads together.  She does that until tears start running down her face, and Helena’s lips caresses hers, teasing her into reciprocity.  She does that until she feels herself whispering _I love you_ and then she forcefully pulls away. 

* * *

_They both knew this day would come._

_Myka thought it’d feel a lot better than this, to do the right thing and say- well, that’s that, isn’t it?_

_Helena thought she would be ending it with him, and not Myka._

_But neither of them was right._

_“There are only two decisions here.”  Myka breathes in deep, the words painful and its implications suffocating her from inside her chest.  “Either I compartmentalise.  Or I don’t, and I get angry, I get angry with you, with him, with everything that has happened.”  I don’t like myself angry, Myka doesn’t say, but it’s implied.  Helena knows her better than that.  She’s doesn’t have the best temper, and the last person she wants to take it out on is the person she actually loves._

_Helena doesn’t actually speak.  She knows what Myka means by compartmentalising- they had this talk once.  They had this talk about why Myka keeps her work and personal life separate, about how she uses it to protect others, about how it keeps people away from her.  Myka spoke about how easy it was for her to wreck things, wreck people, and Helena didn’t say it then, but she didn’t see a single sliver of truth in those words._

_Instead she told Myka, “it’s sad how you never think you’re good at anything.”_

_Helena closes her eyes, and tries not to think about how she would do anything to go back to that time and say, “no.  You saved me.  You found me and you saved me, even though I repeatedly threatened to crumble in your hands.  It was you.”_

_But that time has passed, and Helena knows that Myka’s being rational, not because it’s the easiest, or because she actually wants to be; instead, Myka chooses rationality over emotions, because it hides pain under a mask of near-insanity._

_“Okay.”  Helena breathes deeply, and she looks away, repeating the word “okay”._

_(Repeating it doesn’t make it any less false.)_

_Neither of them moves for a good ten minutes.  It’s ten minutes of synchronised breathing, of desperate desire for the other to speak._

_When Myka’s official phone rings, all she says is “stay safe” in a cracked voice, before she walks away to pick up the call._

* * *

When Helena wakes up, it is an environment that is both familiar and foreign at the same time.  The wooden walls, and the dark-coloured sheets, the feeling of warm arms around her waist – she doesn’t need to look, for her body to instinctively ease backwards, and make full use of the embrace while it lasts.

Myka’s eyes flutter open, and her immediate instinct is to tighten the embrace, not pull away.  Her breath caresses Helena’s collarbone, and they both shudder a little.  Neither of them wants to speak, but the silence is at once comforting and unbearable.

“We didn’t do anything last night,” Myka says, and it conveniently glosses over what actually happened to what could have happened.  It’s something they are both thankful for.

“I know.  I wouldn’t have expected anything less of you.”

Helena turns around and Myka tries only briefly to resist.  When their eyes finally meet, Helena’s eyes are as soft as they were the night before, and Myka tries not to think about all the little things she thought she heard Helena say, things neither of them would admit to but for the safety of the darkness.

They may be doomed, but when Helena puts her arm around Myka’s waist and pulls her close, the gasp of air that escapes her isn’t one of fear, or one of disagreement, it’s one of anticipation.  When Myka leans in and runs her teeth across Helena’s bottom lip, when her fingers run through the nooks and crannies of Helena’s body, when Helena eventually whimpers out Myka’s name, none of it feels doomed.

 _I’m only happy when I’m with you_.  _I’m yours, and no one else’s.  I want you to be mine, and mine alone_.

Myka doesn’t say any of it.  She can’t, and she won’t.  Both of them have too much control to say the things that they truly wish to say, and at the same time, have too much mutual understanding to need everything to be said.

What Myka does is to actually fall asleep.  Helena holds her tight, and doesn’t move, except to lightly tap her fingers on Myka’s stomach, their breathing synchronised in a mutual comfort neither could recreate elsewhere.  It’s the first time in months that Myka truly falls asleep.

She falls asleep to the memory of Helena whispering _I love you_ into the night air.

* * *

_She first meets him at trial.  When Pete warned her not to get emotional, this wasn’t what he originally thought would happen._

_Myka has been prepping herself for this for days – the image of seeing Helena on the opposite side of the courtroom, asking all the difficult questions, the one designed to create little traps out of the most honest words anyone could say, and then force them to trip over them again.  It’s a craft, a weapon, but from where she sits, it’s more like heartbreak._

_When Helena had chosen to defect from the District Attorney’s Office, there wasn’t a soul at the Twelfth that didn’t curse her name, Myka included.  But when it was revealed exactly which defence case she would be lead counsel on, no one breathed a word in Myka’s presence._

_Nathaniel Wutkin, or_ Nate _, as he is called among his kind, is a man with murders on his hands, and a white collar scam of third world countries named after him.  And yet somehow, behind an impressive suite of lawyers and accountants, he has stayed out of jail, and in his palace built with money intended for relief.  He’s a man Myka spent the last three months chasing._

_When she eventually takes the stand, she grips onto her statement tightly, and does everything, except look into Helena’s eyes._

_“Detective Bering, I refer you to the documents titled Exhibits 0023 through 0032.  Will you please confirm that these are your statements?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Your Honour, the statements are jointly admitted as agreed by both parties.  Accordingly, the State will not be calling Detective Bering to the stand further.”_

_The judge looks towards the Deputy District Attorney and nods._

_“Defence, the court requires confirmation on the agreement.”_

_Myka looks up the minute Helena speaks._

_“Your Honour,” Helena glances at Nate, who nods authoritatively, and then she sighs, just under her breath.  “I have been instructed by my client that we will no longer accept,” there’s a pause, and Helena struggles to keep her emotions in check, “Detective Bering’s statements as part of the agreed bundle of evidence.”_

_The judge shakes his head amidst the chorus of shock by the DDA, as well as everyone from the Twelfth who had the time to make it to the hearing._

_“I expected better from you, Ms Wells.”  There’s the sound of flipping pages and whispers between the court clerk and the judge.  “The court calls for a two week recess for Prosecution to prepare accordingly.  Detective Bering will return to be cross-examined on the seventh of next month.”_

_“Thank you, Your Honour.”_

_“Court dismissed.”_

_It takes Myka all of her self-control to get out of the stand, and walk out of the courtroom with as much pride as she had left.  It’s self-control she loses when she sees Helena unhappily accepting a kiss on the cheek from Nate, and the way he holds Helena possessively, like she’s his, and he knows how much it’s killing Myka._

_Pete doesn’t manage to catch up with her, as she runs out of the courtroom and into the crowd.  Thankfully, neither does the media._

_That night, the news comes on at a diner that she’s at, and Helena is fielding questions from the press.  One reporter asks, “Has there been any misconduct on the part of the investigator; why the sudden decision to cross-examine Detective Bering?”_

_She storms out of the diner before anyone recognises her._  

* * *

Myka leaves Helena a note before she leaves for night shift.  She can’t remember what it says, because Helena took that –and everything else that was in the one drawer which may have been at Myka’s house, but really was _theirs_ – Helena took that, and she’s just- well, she’s not there anymore.

Myka’s not sure why she ever thought she’d return, and Helena would be waiting for her there.  What would they do?  Say goodbye?  Pretend nothing ever happened?  Pretend that they could be sheltered from everything in that one apartment?  She has no answer, and she’s not sure Helena has one either.

So she does what she knows.  She goes to a bar and orders two, three, maybe five gin tonics, until a man sits beside her and asks with a laugh, “are refills free?”

“No, they’re not,” Myka snaps back, and the only other reaction she has is to wrap her fingers tighter around the glass.  She’s not particularly interested in making conversation – she hasn’t, for far too long – and all she wants is to drink enough to attain a buzz, and then walk home, and collapse.

(That way she’ll wake up with enough of a numbing feeling in her body to make the visit to the Attorney-General’s office a lot more bearable.)

“I’ll have one too, as well,” he says, and as soon as the bartender walks away, he stretches out a hand and introduces himself.

“Daniel Dickinson, White House.”

Myka laughs it off, and knocks back her drink, before signalling for the bill.  (According to the bill, she has had six.)

“Sorry, Daniel, I’m not the kind of girl to fall for this kind of thing.”  She offers an apologetic smile and adds, “not even on my worst days.”

She sees him again the next morning.  He knocks on her door just two minutes before ten, right as she is about to leave.  When she opens the door, he keeps a straight face, and offers his hand again, “Daniel Dickinson, White House.”

This time, Myka finds it in her to shake his hand, and he laughs, as he offers her his identification for her verification.

When Myka finally invites him in, he’ll say, “the Attorney-General will not be waiting for you this morning” in a way that makes her pay attention.

* * *

_Artie is the one who makes Pete talk.  After failing to force Myka to take leave, or to properly prepare for the trial like any good agent would, the Captain calls both Pete and Myka into his office, and practically coerces it out of them._

_Pete’s the one who talks, because he knows Myka can’t speak of it out loud without choking on each syllable like it’s acid against her throat.  He tells the story, brief and as emotionless as possible, and Myka sits there, looking out of window in an expressionless manner._

_(Myka believes that there’s a small part of even Artie that doesn’t know how best to deal with this.  And to be frank, that terrifies her a little.)_

_“Captain,” she finally speaks out, and Pete’s animated narrative pauses in mid-air._

_“I won’t fail on the stand.”  With the least sadness she can muster, she continues, “I remember everything.  I remember every last detail, and I’d be damned, I’ve tried so hard to forget.”_

_“Myka-“_

_She gets up, and pulls her jacket closer, avoiding eye contact.  As she walks out, she whispers, “I should have seen it coming.”_

_She didn’t._

* * *

Myka doesn’t blink twice.  She shakes Dickinson’s hand, and when she hands him her badge and her gun, she tries her best not to show relief.

In return, he hands her a locket and instructions to collect a weapon once she crosses state lines.

“It’ll take twenty hours.  Stay at the safe-house till the transfer is complete.  We’ll do a whitewash back in New York.”

“Thank you.”

As she turns the corner, she shakes the hand of POTUS, and pretends that she’s not thinking of Helena when he mentions they couldn’t pick anyone with a family, not for this kind of operation.

When Myka replies “it’s an honour to serve my country,” she puts on the most honest smile she can.

(But she wipes it off as soon as he enters the dark sedan.)

The journey itself took no less than eight hours, and she spent not one minute asleep.  At first it’s okay.  Being commissioned by the President to work on a special taskforce, never once sounded like a downgrade.  Giving up her gun and her badge, for a chance to work away from New York, for a chance to achieve something, for a chance to _find_ herself again – that was all she wanted at some point in recent past.  And yet, somehow, she still wasn’t happy.

She wears the locket around her neck, and thinks not about what parts of her she has to leave behind, and who else will be left to bury those memories of her.  Instead, she thinks – selfishly – “maybe _you_ should have to hurt too”.

(Back in New York, Pete is one of the several men carrying her casket on his shoulder.  Each step he takes is stiff, in tune and disciplined.  All he says is, “she was a great agent, and an even better person”.  But there’s no one there to receive the flag.

Helena isn’t invited.  When she cries, she makes sure that no one hears.) 

* * *

_She’s walking up the steps when it happens.  It hits her fast, and quick, and when she falls backwards, no one catches her.  It’s only when she gasps and feels the warm, sticky liquid on her hands, does someone actually notice her._

_The last thing she remembers is the flash of cameras and Pete’s voice, calling out her name._

_She whispers out Helena’s name, and then things go white._

_The next thing she remembers is feeling an intense jabbing pain up her arm, and the smell of donuts.  Pete is sitting on her bedside, or at least, what he thinks is the bed, when Myka croaks out, “my hand”.  There’s a lot of noise, a lot of hugging, and even what might be a few tears from Pete._

_The doctor comes in, and tries to clear them out, so that he can perform a series of fresh tests.  Before they leave, Myka uses whatever’s left of her, and grabs at Claudia’s hand, asking, “did she-?”_

_Claudia looks down, and then apologetically whispers, “I don’t know.”_

_The doctor starts the examination by asking, “how do you feel?”_

_Myka looks away and fights her tears, “like I’ve been shot.”_

* * *

She has a new apartment now.  It’s different and similar at the same time; they’ve shipped over most of her personal belongings, but she never had much to start with, and the furniture, she bought them mostly from the store two blocks away.  A lot of it is vintage and when all put together, it tricks her into feeling that the house is more lived-in than it actually is.

What she does have now is a new job, one that is far away from NY, although it is quite clear (in a somewhat comforting manner) that she is still working to defend her country’s interests.  She expected to be surrounded by unfamiliar accents really, but surprisingly her boss Emily seemed herself familiar with the States (although she is equally familiar with several other countries), and the two of them have the kind of conversation where they dance around actual talk.

“Why are you here?”

Myka looks up from the vending machine, and sees Emily sitting at one end of the nearby bench.  She walks over, sits down, peels open her chocolate, and offers Emily some.  Emily politely refuses.

“I’m sure you read my personnel file before I was deployed here.”  She nearly adds, _ma’am_ , and then she remembers that Emily hates being called that.  She would hate it too, if she were in that position.  It just isn’t quite as hierarchical as at the precinct.  Myka’s not sure whether she misses it, or not.

“Only your skills, and your experience.”  Myka looks surprised, and Emily continues, shrugging slightly, “we all have reasons to do what we do, whether or not it is actually what we want.”  Myka stops chewing when she sees Emily start playing with her fingers.  It might be the first time she’s seen Emily looking somewhat... morose?

“I’m here only because it’s the best option I have right now.”

As those words reverberate off the walls, all Myka can think about is how it took her less than two weeks to trade her past life for one mostly spent in an underground bunker in London, doing work that most people will spend their entire lives not knowing, working with people she will never really _know_.  It’s then when she truly realises how much they all must have lost to end up here, and how much more they must have stood to lose, when they decided that there was no better option.

“This is the best option I have right now, as well.”  Myka admits, and it’s almost uncharacteristic desperation that fuels her next non-question.  “They-, _um_ , they told me I could only tell one person.”

“My ex-boss knows.  And there’s one other.”  Emily’s dark eyes fleet to the ground, and then she continues, her voice markedly softer, “she was the one who actually found me this option.”

There’s no question in return, but out of reciprocity (maybe also out of mutual respect), Myka tells her anyway.

“She asked me to stay.”  Myka keeps her voice as cold and calm as she possibly can, because that’s the only way she knows to say this, without feeling like she’s there, reliving the decision the way she has already done far too many times.

“She asked me to stay, but I left anyway.  If I didn’t leave,” a part of her struggles to hold on, while another part of her lets go, “if I didn’t leave, I’d just be waiting for her to leave me all over again.”

For weeks, they both continue working as though that conversation never happened.  And then one day, in the middle of a major operation, Emily disrupts it by asking Myka to cover her duties immediately.  It’s irresponsible, maybe even irrational, but before Myka can even ask anything, Emily hands over her access key, and whispers, “she’s been taken.”

She nods, and squeezes Emily’s hand, in a way that says, _I would do exactly the same_.

(In that moment, the bunker feels a little less lonely for both of them.)

* * *

_They meet at the turn of the corner from a diner near the precinct.  Her mouth is half full with a bagel, and he says “hello” like they’re alone, and he’s not flanked by two bodyguards._

_Somehow, she’s not even half afraid.  She swallows, and in fact walks closer, smirking a little when she sees that he takes a step back._

_“Hello.  I didn’t think I would have to see you again.”  There’s no doubt bitterness lacing her words.  “Or are you here to make sure the job is actually done this time?”_

_She’s pretty sure he’s out on bail only because there will never be a sum the courts can place on him that he cannot pay.  And she’s even surer that there is no way to trace her, well- her_ injury _, to him, because he’s too smart for that.  And the only reason that she can calmly stand in front of him, the scar of her bullet-wound still painfully fresh, is because if there’s anything the cold metal took out of her, it wasn’t her spirit, it was her fear._

_“The circumstances were just somewhat... unfortunate?”  He laughs, “I could try again.”_

_Myka stands her ground, because there simply isn’t much for her to lose, and if she had any pride left in her, there was no chance in hell that she would be left at his mercy.  But then he speaks again, and a part of her cracks in a way that she didn’t see coming.  It blindsides her in a way that makes it painfully clear how vulnerable she really has been all along, and that perhaps all the bullet did was to make it known._

_“And it need not be you.”_

_Myka does her best to walk away and betray as little emotion as she possibly can.  But when she says, “what makes you think I care,” they both know that it doesn’t call for an answer_

_It’ll be the first time that Myka wishes she never knew Helena at all._

* * *

Myka takes her thirteenth route home from work today.  She smiles a little once she steps out of the bunker, because there’s a rare dearth of rain, and as luck would have it, she’s to walk through the park and in doing so, she gets to enjoy the sunshine she used to curse when she was out on the beat.

Her steps slow as she reaches the park, and Myka almost grins at the softness of earth beneath her boots, and the way the grass bounces back with a kind of resilience she wishes she could have.  It is barely two minutes, when she suddenly feels someone walking incredibly close to hers, and heels joining her boots, slow and casual, like they are thinking just the same thing.

When she looks up, it’s Emily, who smiles, somewhat sheepishly.  “I profile for a living.  But it doesn’t take a genius to realise that anyone with a brain is going to try and take advantage of this sun.”

Myka laughs softly, and they continue walking, soft squishy sounds marking their every move.

“How is she?”

“Safe,” Emily replies, almost immediately.  And then she repeats it again, in an expiration of air that can barely be heard.  When Myka turns to look up at her, there’s an expression on Emily’s face she has never seen before – happiness, perhaps even bliss, or the sincere afterglow of being able to return to a place where was allowed to _belong_ , to a person who made her feel _whole_.  Part of Myka is happy, happy for Emily, but there’s another part- a part that screams at her in the most ugly fashion, the part that questions _does she not deserve that too_?

Emily walks them to a nearby diner, and they take the booth right inside.  They have light conversation over dinner, and Myka doesn’t mention how this has been the first time, in ages, when she hasn’t had dinner alone.  Myka laughs twice, maybe thrice, during the entire dinner, and part of her shudders from how genuine it sounds.  She’s not exactly sure what they are, but she doesn’t ask.  She doesn’t ask because questions leads to answers, or even worse, more questions, and Myka isn’t exactly prepared for that right now.

They finish their food, and Emily raises her hand for the dessert menu.  It takes a look out of the window to realise that it’s late, and Myka protests, on the pretext of needing an early start the next morning. 

But Emily reaches over and places her hand over Myka’s, a sincere smile on her face, and she says, “I’m going to have to leave, but please, just take a look at the menu, won’t you?  They’ll put it on my tab.”

Myka nods somewhat cluelessly, and when the menu comes, she opens it, and there’s a thin envelope taped to the third page.  She looks up in surprise, but the waitress just tells her she’ll be back later to take her order.  Left alone, Myka peels off the envelope, and delicately twirls the string around her finger.  When it eventually opens, a single photo falls out.

It’s Helena.

And then on the back of the photo, in what is unmistakeably Emily’s handwriting, is an address.

* * *

_They’re sitting on opposite sides of the courtroom.  She hasn’t quite figured how to look at Helena without tearing apart inside yet, and so she looks away, and recites the plan in her head.  It’s the day of closing submissions, but the Captain is confident that the jury will not take long._

_Myka’s only there because she deserves the chance to say goodbye._

_(No matter what the rules on standing say.)_

_But when he swaggers into the courtroom, Myka notices an unusual confidence in his face.  And when the judge enters, they all stand, and her eyes fleet across to Helena in a way that they shouldn’t (in the way they always do when they’re anywhere close to one another) – Helena stands, but there’s a weakness in her knees, and she almost has to lean on the table for support.  When she sits, she shuffles just a little bit further from Nathaniel, not enough for anyone but for her, and for him to notice._

_It’s then, when the District Attorney rises and he addresses the court._

_“May it please the court, New York County District Attorney for the Prosecution.”_

_The judge nods, almost carelessly, and Myka immediately knows that there is something wrong.  It’s closing submissions, the District Attorney is here and the judge doesn’t even look up._

_“As per the documents submitted earlier today, the District Attorney’s Office will be withdrawing the existing charges against Mr. Wutkin and substituting these with three charges of conspiracy, fraud and money laundering, to which Mr. Wutkin has agreed to plead guilty.”_

_A collective gasp on her side of the courtroom, a triumphant sideways glance from him, and Myka stands up wordlessly, preparing to leave._

_“Pursuant to this plea bargain, Mr. Wutkin will disgorge a total of USD 260 million for forfeiture to the State of New York, and will spend his agreed 20-year jail term at the Federal Correctional Institution, Sheridan in Oregon.  He will also be barred from taking on any job in the financial sector after his release.”_

_There are no words for this.  Myka hears each enunciated syllable of the District Attorney, but it all flies over her head.  She knows he must have given them something – or someone – and there is nothing she can do about it.  But when she breathes, she can still feel her scar stretching against her skin, and she gasps- knowing that it was all, really, for nothing._

_Between trying to breathe, and Pete pushing away the flashing cameras away from her, Myka finds herself in the only secluded room they can find, and keep the press away from: the witness room for victims who are deemed so vulnerable they cannot be made to face their assailants in court.  When she realises where she is, she laughs.  She laughs so hard she cries, and then she takes the fire escape to her car, and drives, without thinking, home._

_Helena is there, waiting for her._

_Without a word, Myka lets her in._

* * *

She looks the same.  She walks the same.  She even laughs the same (when she laughs at all).

But Helena is not the bright person she last saw.

She doesn’t practise any more.  She may be a partner at Clifford Chance, but advising clients on mergers and acquisitions, just isn’t what she makes her happy – she thrives, in court, and not trapped within four glass walls and a continual doubt as to whether her presence in the firm is by virtue of her surname.

(Once, she’s asked by the House of Lords to serve as _amicus curiae_ for a landmark case on criminal procedure.  The paper trail ends with a redacted document from the US Embassy, and a package sent from Helena’s place of residence to one of the Lord Justice’s.)

Helena leaves office on time, and Myka watches, for a week and a half, everyday, before anything happens.  She watches Helena leave at 6pm sharp, and walk the same three blocks to the diner, where she buys whatever’s the dinner special.  She then turns the corner, and picks up fruit from the nearby grocer, and then disappears, into her apartment block.

It’s a Tuesday, when Helena turns the corner – no, the _other_ corner – and into an old library instead. 

Twenty minutes later, a man in a suit has his arm around her shoulder as they walk out of the library and into his car.  Myka doesn’t need to know who he is – no, all she needs to know is that the pinch in her heart reminds her of the constant ache she lived with when they were both buried by the knowledge of _him_.

He’s not Nathaniel, but Myka will be damned if she puts herself in that same position ever again.

(Why should she be chasing Helena over and over again?  Is it selfish for her to want to be wanted, more?)

“I’m not second choice.”  Her therapist gave her the words, but she knew it long before.  She just didn’t want to say it.  What would she be if she weren’t, at the very least, second choice?

Without throwing one last gaze in Helena’s direction, she walks away.

She only starts crying when the car zooms past her without any care.

* * *

_“I didn’t know,” Helena starts, and she’s sorry.  She’s_ truly _sorry, and Myka knows; she can hear it in her voice, read it off the way Helena’s body loses the rigidity and strength that made her quite so terrifying in court._

_“We can’t-.”_

_All of Myka’s plans have to change, now that he’s not going to jail for the rest of his life, now that he’s struck a deal that has made him useful to the government, now that she knows she can’t just “wait it out”.  She can’t just wait for him to disappear from Helena’s life and hope that things will be okay again.  She can’t tell her, and at the same time, she can’t pretend that it isn’t killing her._

_She could probably take another shot, and risk whatever that brings with it, but she’s not sure she could ever deal with making Helena run that risk as well._

_(Unfortunately, she also knows that Helena would probably think the exact same thing, if the choice was up to her.)_

_“Myka, I didn’t mean to-“_

_“Tell me.  Tell me why.”_

_When Helena doesn’t speak, Myka reaches over, and she links fingers with Helena, and repeats her question, the trace of vulnerability undeniable in her voice._

_And so Helena tells her.  Helena tells her that she knew Nathaniel long before he started doing the things he is now known for, that he once made her happy- or at least as happy as she thought she could muster, that before everything, before – her? Myka wouldn’t know – before, she thought that Nathaniel was easily the man she could build the rest of her life with.  Helena tells her that as much as she doesn’t like it, she still owes Nathaniel an obligation she cannot define, this same obligation she detests, but every time she tries to leave, something, or someone, stops her, and she just- well, she just doesn’t._

_She apologises, over and over, until Myka can feel it ingrained into every bit of her, that Helena is, of all things,_ sorry. _She tells her that Nathaniel expects her to stay, for what may be 20 years (or realistically, much much less, with parole), and that she’s not sure she could leave.  And then at the same time, she tells Myka, in no uncertain terms, “I love you.”_

_Myka doesn’t respond when she first hears them, and so Helena repeats it again, firmer, clearer, and more definitively._

_“I love you, Myka.  It probably sounds positively crazy given how little time we’ve had with each other, but it’s true.”_

_She’s sure that Helena is expecting another answer, but when she opens her mouth to respond, the words that tumble out are awful._

_“I can’t do this anymore.  We can’t do this anymore.”_

_She sounds defeated, and vulnerable, and she can feel her fingers peel away from Helena’s as though they are not her own._

_“You have him, I have- well,” she laughs, and its bitter and so uncharacteristically sharp, “I have_ me _.  And right now, that’s what I need to be.  I need to be selfish and ask myself how many times I can see you on my doorstep and let you in, no questions asked, and have our emotions dance with one another, just to fall apart after you leave.  I know just how many times that has happened since – because there’s an empty gin bottle for every single time, and frankly, I’m running out of brands to collect.”_

_She laughs, to make it sound ridiculous, but then she makes the mistake of looking up at Helena, and immediately she knows that admitting all of this is hurting Helena as much as it is hurting her._

_(Why does it hurt even when it is the right thing to do?  Or does it hurt precisely because it isn’t?)_

_“I will never have_ locus standi _, and I don’t know why I thought it might be any different.  Perhaps that’s the problem, isn’t it?  Me acting as though I had any standing whatsoever, getting angry when I never deserved to, getting upset over things that were never supposed to matter.”  She pauses to catch her breath, and that’s when she realises she has been crying.  “Me acting as though_ we _were something,” she finally whispers, in the slightest way possible._

 _Myka hates that Helena left that night.  But even more than that, Myka hates that the last thing Helena says to her is_ sorry _._

_They keep apologising to each other.  They keep apologising to each other because they’ll never find the courage to admit to each other just how stupid they are for pretending that they can say everything and anything and never have to say the things that actually matter._

* * *

“Does this mean you’re going to run again?”

“What?”

Emily looks up from her mascara, and straight at Myka through the mirror.

“The last time she fucked you over, you crossed the Atlantic.  Does this mean I have to find you a posting on another continent?

“Oh, shut up,” Myka snaps back.  She didn’t mean to sound as harsh as she did, but she has never been good at this.  She never had to say goodbye the last time.  All she had to do was walk away – from her old life, from the precinct, from Helena.  She walked away, pretended they didn’t exist, pretended the _old_ her didn’t exist, all under the pretext of national security.

(Frankly, that’s the only way she knows how to end things – to walk away.  Why do you think she hasn’t talked to her father since she moved out?)

Emily shrugs and goes back to her make-up, leaving Myka thinking on her bed.  With careful make-up, she pulls herself together in a way that makes Myka suspect that she’s more used to late night adventures than she lets on.  There’s a lot she doesn’t know about Emily, a lot she finds herself assuming, but this much she knows about her – Emily knows her far better than anyone else down in that bunker, and she’s also a lot sharper than anyone she’s ever worked with.

No one has ever spoken to her quite this directly before – not in New York, and most certainly not here.

But then again, between dinners at that same diner and late nights running operations over bitter coffee, Emily might be the closest thing to a friend she has.  Certainly that must have been what she subconsciously knew yesterday, when it was Emily she asked to meet at her bar, no questions asked, at the ring of one phone call.

The amount of drinks they had was also kind of a no-questions-asked kind of thing.

It’s kind of refreshing to find someone who drinks like they also have no regard for their liver.  Unlike Myka, however, Emily is plagued by the unfortunate consequence of a hangover, and it’s surprising how she can still run an entire field office between headaches and a painful sensitivity to noise.

(It’s almost as though she, like Myka, is trying to be someone else here.)

That night, she returns back to the bunker after watching Helena.  _Watching_ , she realises, sounds creepy and awful, and perhaps she should describe it in some other way.  She’s deciding.  She’s looking at Helena and wondering if it is worth it for either of them – or both of them – to risk the pain and the hurt and all the bad things between them, just so they could steal just those precious little moments of great.  She’s hoping, for Helena to turn around, and ask her to _stay_.

She’s selfish and awful and Helena is the one person who can make her feel like that’s okay, and at the same time, the one person who Myka wishes never had to deal with this part of her.

How can she say _all I want is you_ , if every time she tries, all she can remember is that her love for Helena paralyses her in a way that is brutal and painful and self-destructive?

So she doesn’t.

She doesn’t say what she feels and it sets her up for what feels a lot like life-long regret.

“No,” is the word that escapes her lips as she walks through the door.  Emily looks up, almost shocked that Myka would be back at the bunker, and immediately closes the file she is reading.  Myka lets her keep it in her safe, before repeating it again.

“No.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Myka.”

“You don’t have to find me another posting.”  She sighs, and it’s felt by both of them.  “I’ll be okay.  I’ll be okay here.”

All Emily does is nod, before pulling out two glasses and a bottle of bourbon.

* * *

_The silence hangs over them like a death sentence._

_(Time doesn’t teach her how to live with it.  At most, she learns how to cope.  Even then, she’s no good at it.)_

_It’s a Wednesday when she receives a letter from Helena, in her very own personalised stationary, and it is mailed to the office, and not her apartment._

_(She’s not sure how to feel about the fact that Helena is probably the only one who knows her well enough, to know that she won’t be checking her mailbox if she spends no less than sixteen hours at work every day.)_

_The letter is both too short and too long.  It’s written without even the slightest correction, and it is also beautifully and delicately phrased, which tells Myka that Helena must have rewritten this over and over.  Therefore, this is probably the kindest, and at the same time, the most sanitised letter she’ll get from Helena.  For a person who plies her trade crafting words, she simply isn’t that great with them when it isn’t in a courtroom._

_“I thought about everything you said to me, about our situation.  I can’t get your words out of my mind, Myka, especially the last ones.  And it got me thinking- I don’t have the right to keep insisting on my presence here; I don’t have the right to make your life so miserable.  I’m leaving.  You won’t see me anymore.  We don’t deserve to suffer so much, and perhaps I won’t survive, but perhaps you will.”_

_Myka leaves work early that day._

_She drives around for hours, but eventually, she ends up at Helena’s apartment._

_“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers to herself._

_She knocks on the door anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: http://doctoratomic.tumblr.com/post/38181092984/cops-and-lawyers-for-belated-bering-and-wells-au


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